


Verbal Direction

by keelywolfe



Category: British Actor RPF, The Hobbit RPF
Genre: M/M, Oral Sex, PWP, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-27
Updated: 2013-06-27
Packaged: 2017-12-16 09:02:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/860357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keelywolfe/pseuds/keelywolfe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Richard is an exceptional actor and a good actor always knows how to take direction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Verbal Direction

**Author's Note:**

> This is the sort of thing I write at night in chat when I am bored. *G*

* * *

"You know, I was where you are not so very long ago," Benedict murmured, low, into his ear and it made the strange weight of cock on his tongue even stranger, trying not to drool, trying to swallow around the thickness of it. "I'd never sucked cock before, either. You shouldn't worry, Martin is an excellent learning tool. Shall I remind him not to pull hair?"

Richard couldn't say that he didn't mind a little hair tug, he hardly had enough to grip as it was. He couldn't have said it even if Martin hadn't groaned aloud, his hips rising pleadingly and Richard hastily complied, sucking at bit harder at the head. The rich, salt taste spread thick across his tongue, seeping from the slit at the head where he toyed curiously, pushing the tip of his tongue beneath the foreskin to trace the ridge beneath it.

Martin's sharp keen, the clumsy push of his hips was dizzyingly satisfying and Richard nearly missed Benedict leaning in closer until warm breath was moist against the back of his neck, lips just brushing, "Oh, that was simply lovely. Martin, darling, you are a terrible whore."

"You try holding still with that mouth on you, motherfucking cunt," Martin ground out, catching on a gasp as Richard slipped a hand between his legs, pressing gently against the tender place just behind his balls. "Oh, fuck, yes," Martin groaned, "There, you blinkering cunt, right there."

"Language," Benedict sighed against Richard's nape, the tip of his tongue grazing wetly, "That's no way to speak to someone whose going to let you come in their mouth, is it?"

Was he? Richard wasn't entirely sure on that though he wasn't precisely unsure. He'd never in his life even expected to be here, kneeling on hotel sheets with Benedict snugged up behind him, Martin in front of him. Martin was the only one of them naked, kit off and tossed to the floor yet Richard was somehow the vulnerable one, struggling with his first blowjob, following the dark words Benedict whispered into his ear. It was easier and harder than he'd expected; harder to keep from drooling, to match the rhythm of his hand to that of his mouth, both hands doing their own things and yet, easier, because his mouth wanted this, sucking eagerly, trying to take more, until he choked and sputtered, and only tried again.

"I'll talk...oh, fuck, oh, oh, fuck, Richard, you fucking...fuck, that's...oh!" Martin didn't seem capable of shutting up, babbling out a slurry of curses and moans and his hands moved with the restless ambiguity, shifting from Richard's hair to his shoulder, scruffing Ben's hair with marked roughness before skating back down to Richard's, his short nails digging in as he rocked up and groaned, "Ah, fuck, fuck, harder, you pretty bastard, c'mon, you can do it harder."

"Sweet talker," Benedict mouthed laughingly just beneath Richard's ear and the tingle of it sent an icy shiver up his spine, even as he obeyed Martin's slurred command, curving his tongue beneath the shaft and sucking him in deep. The head bumped slightly against the back of his throat and his eyes watered, breath choking, yet he caught it, gingerly tried again and from Martin's cursed sob he wasn't doing such a bad job of it.

"Oh, that's good, that is...fuck me, that's lovely, your cunting mouth, Jesus, Richard, you...fuck, I'm...I..." Martin's breath faltered, his words stuttering and Richard caught the first hot spurt across the back of his tongue, startling at the heat of it, a brief scald on the tender skin. The second brought a lovely, high sound from Martin, wordless and desperate, and Richard closed his eyes, tasting bitter salt and slicking his semen-coated tongue along the hard thickness of Martin's cock.

A large, warm hand settled at his throat, the hard press of a thumb beneath his jaw, "Swallow it," Benedict whispered, _demanded_. "Let me feel you swallow it."

Carefully, Richard drew back, allowed Martin's softening shaft to slip gently free as he leaned back into the lean line of Benedict's body. He held the slippery weight of it against his tongue for a long moment, felt the odd texture of it, the taste melding into his saliva, the salt of it dimming. Then he swallowed, one hard bob of the throat that Benedict's thumb followed down.

"There we are, do you see?" Benedict crooned, and Richard shuddered to hear it so terribly close, his own cock a hard ache between his legs. An escaped trickle was wet on his lower lip and Richard licked it away thoughtlessly, groaning at the bright, salt taste as it bloomed again across his tongue. "You did just fine. Now, then," And the heel of a hand was sharp and perfect against him, grinding down the denim-trapped length of his cock. "Shall we take care of you next?"

"Keep teasing and he'll come in his trousers," Martin said and the desperate want in his voice had degraded into sleepy contentment. "Have a go at him, Benny, he could use a nice crank gobble." His voice lowered, conspiratorially, "He's loads better than he was, Richard, never you fear. Hardly ever bites anymore."

"You fluttering romantic you," Benedict said, dryly, and Richard supposed he might have protested at any time. Certainly he could have demurred before Benedict slithered around in front of him, languid as a cat. Of course he could have protested before Benedict neatly undid his jeans, minding the zipper with great care as he eased it down, tugging his jeans and pants alike down his thighs.

By the time a hot mouth was around him, his chance to protest was frittered away like so many paper shreds in the wind and Richard could only lay shaky hands into soft curls, tangling his fingers in them as Benedict sucked him with a viciously talented swirl of tongue.

"Oh, you..." Richard gulped, words would not come to him, and he only tugged lightly on those curls, watched as black-tipped lashes rose and amused blue eyes gleamed up at him.

He hardly lasted a minute and he might have been embarrassed by it if Benedict hadn't been so terribly eager about the whole thing, lapping for each spilled droplet, stealing it greedily, and he took Richard's hand at the end, pressed two fingers against his own throat so that Richard, still quivering, shaking with the blinkering pleasure of it, could feel him swallow it down.

The cool sheets felt good against his sweaty skin, even if Richard didn't recall flopping back on them, His shirt was rucked up under his armpits, his trousers around his knees, and if a photographer leapt through a window and stole a picture of him now, they could name it blissfully fucked out.

He let out a soft sound when Benedict settled next to him, resting his head on the flatness of Richard's belly, his breath stirring the fine curls there. "There, you see? You're a natural," Benedict said softly, his voice as deep and low as a hidden cave.

"Maybe," Richard managed and his own voice was full of gravel. Movement was of the lowest priority but he managed to at least kick off his jeans, toeing them over the edge of the bed. "But you didn't have a turn."

"Oh, don't you worry about Benny," Martin crawled up next to them, ungainly as a baby giraffe and he flopped down nearly atop Richard, driving the breath half out of him. He snuggled in despite a variety of grumblings, nuzzling into Richard's armpit as if planning to nap there. "Benny's a right cunt, but he can handle himself."

"Oh, you mean he--" Richard managed a vague gesture that nonetheless managed to be obscene.

"Don't be silly, he's not going to give a tug-a-lug with the two of us right here," Martin yawned. "He's like to give one of us a fuck when we aren't expecting it, though, so if you'd rather not, better keep a watch on your arse."

"I'll....remember that," Richard said, weakly, though with the way the two of them were sinking into snores, he thought perhaps his arse was safe for the time being.

It was hot stuck between them, sweat-damp skin already clinging in uncomfortable ways. The faint feeling of dampness on his chest made him think that Martin might possibly be drooling on him and Benedict's head was quite heavy on his belly, his soft curls tickling with every breath Richard took. 

Richard sighed, curling his arm around Martin and cupping Benedict's nape with his free hand, tangling his fingers lightly into soft hair. Drowsily, he licked his lips and tasted the faint remnant of bitter salt, the slight soreness in his jaw the only proof he had of what he'd done except for the memory. That and the raunchy teasing he was likely to get from Martin, sly little comments that would draw hot blushes from him that no one else would understand.

From Benedict would be glances from beneath his lashes, a peek of blue eyes that seemed shy, tentative and almost-innocent. Until he whispered all that posh filth in that dark voice of his, murmuring what he would do, what he wanted done to him, sweet little taunts and Richard had hardly managed to lay a hand on him. Yet. 

But then, there was always tomorrow. 

 

-finis-


End file.
